


On a Sting and a Prayer

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Hornets and Halos [1]
Category: Green Hornet (TV), The Saint (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Friendship, Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: Britt Reid is in London on newspaper business, but the Green Hornet and Kato are there chasing a con artist who specializes in fake fundraisers for children's charities. Will Chief Inspector Teal's decision to have Simon Templar shadow Britt help or hinder the cause of justice? (The Saint '62/The Green Hornet '66, gen, brief Britt/Casey)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Hornets and Halos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011333
Kudos: 1





	1. The Stinger and the Stung

**Author's Note:**

> This story is very definitely based on both 1960s TV series ( _The Saint_ starring Sir Roger Moore and _The Green Hornet_ starring Van Williams and Bruce Lee), with references to the 1966 _Batman_ series and, via _Batman_ , the larger DCU. The setting is sometime after _Batman_ “A Piece of the Action”/“Batman’s Satisfaction,” toward the end of _The Green Hornet_ ’s television run, and during _The Saint_ Season 5; mild spoilers for _The Saint_ 2.19 “Luella,” 3.3 “Jeannine,” and 3.22 “The Crime of the Century” and _The Green Hornet_ 17-19 “Corpse of the Year” and “Bad Bet on a 459-Silent.” Many thanks, as usual, to KayValo87 and jennytork for the beta, and especially to Kay for helping me get unstuck a few times!

_June 1967  
London, England_

“See that man over there?” asked Chief Inspector Claude Eustace Teal quietly, facing away from his quarry so as not to watch too obviously.

Simon Templar looked at the stream of people coming through the International Arrivals gate at Heathrow. _Which one, Claude?_ he nearly asked when his eye was caught by one man in particular—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes that searched the room but didn’t seem to have a specific target. He made eye contact with Simon briefly before moving on, physically and observationally. Something about him screamed _Texan_ , but Simon couldn’t put his finger on what; the suit was a standard business cut.

“Tweed suit?” Simon asked at a volume to match Chief Inspector Teal’s.

“Mm,” confirmed that worthy.

“Who is he, Claude?”

“Britt Reid, publisher of the Century City _Daily Sentinel_.”

“Why the interest? I don’t think you have much to gain from my getting my name in yet another American newspaper.”

“I don’t.” Chief Inspector Teal pulled a roll of peppermints out of his pocket and unwrapped one. “But wherever Reid goes, the Green Hornet seems to follow.” He popped the peppermint in his mouth.

Simon raised his chin and watched Reid’s departing back more narrowly. He’d heard stories about the Green Hornet, arch-criminal with a technological arsenal matched only by Batman’s. The Hornet’s enemies in the underworld always seemed to get caught, but the Hornet himself never did.

“It was Commissioner Gordon from Gotham who put me onto Reid,” Chief Inspector Teal continued. “Apparently he has legitimate business here with the _Times_ and the _Guardian_ , so I’ve no reason to hold him or even bring him in for questioning. For all we know, the Green Hornet is someone else entirely who may or may not have a vested interest in following Reid. All the same….”

“You want me to find out what he’s up to and, if possible, catch the Green Hornet.”

Chief Inspector Teal finally looked Simon in the eye. “You’re the one man I know who _can_ catch the Green Hornet. On his home turf, he’s unstoppable; even in Gotham, he’s managed to elude Batman. I know we’ve had our differences, Simon, but the Yard’s out of its depth if the Green Hornet’s after a piece of somebody’s action here.”

Simon nodded slowly. “Not only because of the Hornet’s reputation but also because a score big enough to draw him here….”

“Might not be on a par with Bernhard Raxel’s heist at the Government Printing Works, but it would have to be pretty close.”

Simon pursed his lips as he returned his attention to Reid, who was just making the turn to go to the exit nearest the taxi stands. “All right, Claude Eustace. You have a deal.”

* * *

Shadowing Reid was, quite frankly, rather boring to begin with. Simon followed Reid to his hotel, learned what suite he was in, found that it had a convenient balcony that he could access from the fire escape through a less convenient ledge, and eavesdropped enough to know that Reid was attending a party that evening to which Simon himself had been invited. Simon thus went home and changed, arrived at the party just after Reid, and allowed himself to be introduced to Reid by the hostess, then made small talk and mingled while keeping an eye on Reid and casing the whole crowd and the house while watching Reid do the same. But was Reid’s interest that of the Hornet looking for a mark or merely that of the publisher looking for a story?

Having put in enough of an appearance to fulfill obligations and allay suspicions, Simon left the party early and waited on the road until Reid left a few minutes later, then followed him back to the hotel. If Reid knew he was being followed, he didn’t show it, but he made no stops along the way, not even in the hotel bar. He just went straight up to his room.

_Heigh ho_ , Simon thought and headed to the fire escape.

“I still don’t know why you talked me into letting you come on this trip,” Reid was saying when Simon eased onto the balcony. “Without the car, there’s no reason for you to be seen in public with me.”

“And I still say you should have brought the car,” countered another male voice with a strong Hong Kong accent.

“The Black Beauty is _far_ too recognizable, Kato. I’d never have gotten her through Customs. For that matter, I’m not sure how you avoided attracting attention.”

Well, that clinched the identity of the Green Hornet. Simon edged closer to the French doors that opened onto the balcony.

“I still have a British passport,” replied the Hornet’s Asian chauffeur and sidekick.

“Oh, right, I forgot,” said Reid. “Sorry. Well, I guess you didn’t notice those two men at the airport.”

“What men?”

“Chief Inspector Teal and Simon Templar. They were right outside the arrival gate.”

Simon frowned to himself. He’d noticed Reid notice him, but he didn’t know how he’d missed Kato’s arrival. Then again, nobody knew what Kato’s face looked like, and Simon knew as well as anyone how seldom people noticed the man behind a chauffeur’s livery, mask or no mask. In plain clothes, Kato wouldn’t even be recognizable as a chauffeur.

“Did you speak to them?” Kato asked.

Reid scoffed. “What good would that have done? They saw me, but they were looking for the Green Hornet. How could I possibly convince them that we’re here to _stop_ a crime, not commit one?”

Simon was suddenly intrigued, enough so to start working at the latch on the French doors.

“If you can’t trust Scotland Yard….” Kato began.

“That’s just it,” Reid interrupted. “I _can’t_ trust Scotland Yard, or anyone other than Casey and Frank. And you, of course. With the Saint in the mix, I don’t even know if I _should_ try to do anything as the Hornet.”

“It would be easier as Batman,” Kato agreed sympathetically.

Simon slid through the French doors, shutting them silently behind him, and parted the drapes just enough to see Reid sink down on the sofa with a groan and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t _want_ to be Batman,” Reid complained, “but sometimes I do envy Bruce, I really do. Everyone knows the Caped Crusaders are good guys, but here I am, the Lone Ranger’s great-great-nephew, and everyone thinks we’re criminals. Granted, that’s why we can do what we do… but who’s gonna believe the Green Hornet came all the way to London just to prevent a million-dollar scam?”

“You’d be surprised,” Simon said, revealing himself.

Reid jumped to his feet, and Kato, who was standing between the sofa and all the other exits, dropped into a fighting stance.

Simon raised both hands placatingly. “Easy, Kato. I come in peace. After all, if anyone knows what it’s like to be misunderstood by the police, it’s the infamous Simon Templar.” And he showed his halo.

“You’re not working for the police?” Reid asked skeptically.

Simon shrugged, not lowering his hands. “Scotland Yard is concerned, naturally, but neither the Green Hornet nor you personally are wanted for anything in this country, and I’ve heard nothing to suggest that you plan to commit a crime. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now, I haven’t your crime-fighting pedigree—although I wouldn’t be surprised if your famous relative ever crossed paths with one of mine who happened to be traveling the West at about the same time.”

Reid frowned. “What was his name?”

“Maverick. Beauregard Maverick, my maternal great-grandfather. He was a gambler by profession.”

Reid shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

Simon shrugged again. “Oh, well, no matter. My point is, while I _am_ actually a criminal, your attitude toward the ungodly and mine are in complete agreement, and I see no reason why we can’t be allies as long as you’re here. And I shan’t betray your secret to Chief Inspector Teal. He barely believes it when _I_ want to work on the right side of the law, and he’s known me for ages. You’re quite right that he’d never believe it of the Hornet.”

Reid studied Simon for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “It’s all right, Kato.”

Kato finally relaxed, as did Simon.

“Just for reference,” he told Kato as he walked around the sofa, “I am a black belt in karate, but I hardly ever fight in that style anymore.”

Kato bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Reid asked Simon.

“Whiskey, soda,” Simon accepted and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Reid.

“Same for me,” Reid told Kato, who bowed again and saw to it while Reid sat down again.

After they’d saluted each other and each taken the first sip of their drinks, Simon settled back and asked, “Now, then, what’s all this about?”

“At the party this evening,” Reid began, likewise leaning back, “did you notice the Marquise of Calais?”

“And her diamonds. They were fake.”

“So’s the Marquise.”

Simon frowned. He’d spotted that himself—her accent was atrocious, her laughter vapid, her clothes American, and her hair dyed blonde—but he wondered what Reid’s interest in the matter was.

“Clark Kent at the _Daily Planet_ tipped me off about her,” Reid continued. “She’s never been to Century City that I know of, probably because of the Hornet, but she’s pulled this same scam, or variations of it, in both Gotham and Metropolis that he knows of, and probably elsewhere across the country. The whole Justice League is after her—that’s why she’s come over here. Not that the Atlantic Ocean is any barrier to Superman, Wonder Woman, or Aquaman, but then again, they don’t normally work over here, and neither does Batman. So it’s up to the Green Hornet… and the Saint,” he added with a wry smile and raised his glass in salute.

Simon returned the smile and the salute and drank. “So what exactly is this scam?”

“From what Kent said, it starts off as the ‘lost heir’ con. Then when the Marquise, or whatever she’s calling herself next, has herself firmly in her marks’ good graces, she declares that she wants to ‘give back to the community,’ only her inheritance is all tied up in a trust, so all she can do is raffle off her jewelry.”

“Dear, dear, those _are_ musty old tricks. What’s got the Justice League so upset over it?”

“The raffles are supposed to benefit children’s charities. Some of them are even legitimate charities that need the money desperately.”

Frowning, Simon set down his drink. “Go on.”

Reid grimaced. “Raffle’s announced with vastly overstated prize values. In Gotham, she got other families to donate their own jewels—even Marsha, Queen of Diamonds, didn’t pull that off. Then poof, the day before the drawing, everything gets stolen, the money, the prizes, everything. Naturally, nothing’s insured. The Marquise makes a show of exquisite grief….”

“And the rats walk away with the whole shebang.”

“Batman managed to recover some of the donated jewelry in Gotham, but only because he was hot enough on their trail that they dropped it to throw him off. In Metropolis, Wonder Woman caught one of the henchmen with the Lasso of Truth, but he’d only gotten half the story out before someone shot him.”

To Simon, stealing from the rich was a hobby that required a judicious choice of targets, but stealing from children was as despicable as blackmail. And then to murder to cover their tracks…. “Right. This ends now.”

Reid and Kato both looked surprised at his vehemence. “Glad to have you on board, Simon,” said Reid, “but where do we even start?”

“Well, for a start, we’re not going to be able to keep the Yard out of it altogether, so I think Britt Reid and I should go see Chief Inspector Teal first thing. You tell him the story just as you told it to me, framed as a story you’re pursuing while you’re here, but with the angle that you’d rather give it to him than to Fleet Street.”

Reid nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Then, speaking of Fleet Street, it might be a good idea for Kato and I to let the Green Hornet be seen in the vicinity of the Marquise’s flat while you’re off tending to newspaper business. Not only would that establish that Britt Reid and the Green Hornet are different people, but it would also lay the groundwork for a nocturnal visit later on.”

Reid and Kato exchanged a look. “You mean you’d be the Hornet?” Reid asked.

“You don’t look like Mr. Reid,” Kato objected.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Simon returned, studying Reid. “It only has to look right from a distance, and you’re not well known in London. A replica Black Beauty might be beyond me, but I think I can manage the suit. Our eyes are more or less the same colour, and we’re similar in height and build. With the greatcoat, gloves, hat, and mask… I might not even need to dye my hair.”*

Reid’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. “Okay, assuming I let you do this, what’s the next step?”

“Why, then the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. You and Kato go in the front door and cause a big scene making your demand—what would your demand be, by the way?”

“Haven’t decided how high yet, but it’s usually a hefty percentage.”

“Not a dollar amount?”

“No, since I know I won’t get it once I shut down the operation.”

“Excellent, because while you two are drawing everyone’s attention, I shall empty the safe.”

Reid exchanged another glance with Kato before asking, “Then we do give the fake jewels to Chief Inspector Teal, _right?_ ”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Even if they weren’t worthless, they’re evidence.” He picked up his glass again. “Then the next move is up to the Marquise. She’s only just arrived in town, so she can’t be terribly far along in her schmoozing, and she can’t go to the police about the burglary because the jewels are fake.” He punctuated that with a drink.

Reid smiled slowly. “How do we get the stolen money back?”

“Oh, I haven’t worked that out yet, but give it time.”

“All right. Just one condition.”

“What’s that?”

Reid grinned. “Call me Britt.”

“You have a deal, Britt,” Simon replied with an answering grin, and they shook hands.

* * *

“And that’s about all I know,” Britt concluded the next morning at New Scotland Yard. “I realize it’s not much to go on, but….” He reached into the inside pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a piece of paper, which he passed to Chief Inspector Teal. “Here’s contact information for Kent at the _Daily Planet_ and Commissioner Gordon in Gotham, as well as Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince—I understand they were involved with the fundraisers in Gotham and Metropolis.”

“I see,” said Chief Inspector Teal, glancing over the list before returning his attention to the men sitting across the desk from him. “And you’re sure this phony Marquise is the Green Hornet’s target?”

Britt looked over at his companion. “Simon is.”

Simon took over from there. “Yes, I managed to trace the Green Hornet last night to where he and Kato are staying. The exchange rate being what it is and considering that he’s not known in London, he’d thought it better to try to get in on her racket over here. But once he heard that she was defrauding children’s charities, he was furious. It seems even petty hoodlums have standards in America.”

Britt bit his tongue. Simon wasn’t sure Chief Inspector Teal noticed.

“In any case,” Simon continued, “he’s agreed to cooperate, provided I make it worth his while, as it’s rather a long way to come just to go home empty-handed.”

Chief Inspector Teal looked at Simon suspiciously. “Just what did he mean by ‘worth his while’?”

Simon feigned outrage. “Honestly, Claude! What kind of question is that?”

Britt fought a smile.

“I _know_ you, Simon,” drawled Chief Inspector Teal.

Simon didn’t flinch. “I promised him girls, a show, and any financial reward to be paid out of my _own_ pocket and no one else’s.”

“That’ll be the day.”

“Well, there _will_ be a reward for the capture of the Marquise, won’t there? So you pay me, and I split it with the Hornet. No need for anything more underhanded than that.” Simon smiled placidly.

Britt gave up and grinned.

Chief Inspector Teal wasn’t nearly as amused, but all he said was, “Thank you for coming in, gentlemen. If I need anything else, I know where I can reach you.”

After some parting pleasantries, Britt and Simon left together in Simon’s car. Britt managed to wait until they’d driven two blocks away to say, “Forget it, Simon.”

Startled, Simon asked, “Forget what?”

“Showing me the high life. That might be what you promised the Hornet in your dreams last night, but Britt Reid has to decline. I promised Miss Case I’d keep this trip all business.”

“Oh. Girlfriend?”

Britt shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. She’s my secretary, and the _Sentinel_ has a policy against office romance.”

“Ah. But you do care for her.” Simon shot him a sidelong glance.

Britt’s silence was answer enough.

“In that case, what would she say to a homecooked dinner with _no_ female companionship and a healthy donation to one of those charities?”

“For me or for her?” Britt teased.

Simon shrugged his eyebrows. “Both, if you like.”

Britt laughed.

“No, seriously, we can fly her out for the week-end if you want.”

Britt laughed again. “Seriously, you don’t have to, but with or without Casey, it does sound safer than a night on the town.”

“It would be my pleasure. The last time I had an American visitor, he _insisted_ on my showing him the high life despite my promises to his wife, and he managed to get away from me and fell slap bang into a blackmail trap. You can imagine the shouting matches that ensued when she came back from Paris early.”

“Heh, yeah. Oof. Casey’s not a screamer, but she’d snap sarcastic remarks at me for _days_.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Simon agreed.

Britt nodded. “So about this friend of yours at the _Times_ ….”

“Ken Shields. He’s the city editor. I called after breakfast, and he said he’d look after you. I don’t know what interest he might take in you or in the Green Hornet, but he should have some dirt on the Marquise.”

Britt nodded again. “I can handle any questions about the Green Hornet. One thing I’m not gonna miss on this case is having to dodge Mike Axford, my ace crime reporter. He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, and I keep him on staff for a reason—but he’s determined to catch the Green Hornet, and he doesn’t always think things through, even when he’s after someone else.”

“Zeal without understanding?”

“Basically.”

“I’ve known some policemen like that. Inspector Quercy of the Sûreté usually assigns Sgt. Luduc to shadow me whenever I’m in Paris just to make sure I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t. Comes in handy sometimes, but usually I have to lose him at some point and let him catch up with me later.”

Britt laughed but then winced and rubbed at his left shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Simon asked, concerned.

Britt nodded. “I got shot a few months back. The wound’s healed, but it still hurts every now and again.”

“Ken may ask you about that.”

“I’ve got a cover story, and it’ll hold up if he calls the _Sentinel_ to confirm it.”

Simon nodded. “All right. Shall we meet for lunch?”

“Actually, I’m lunching at Television Center. The _Sentinel_ has a TV station, so I’ve made some calls about possibly syndicating some British shows to give our viewers some variety. I can take a cab back to the hotel when I’m done this afternoon.”

Simon nodded again. “Dinner, then?”

“I am free for dinner, yes. Is the hotel restaurant any good?”

“Never eaten there, but it’s supposed to be.”

“Okay, let’s meet at my room at 7 and take the Marquise right after dark.”

“Fine,” Simon agreed and pulled to a stop outside the _Times_. “See you at 7, then.”

Britt got out and waved goodbye, and Simon drove off to a seedy warehouse in Hackney that was currently functioning as a garage. Thanks to some late-night phone calls that had prompted some early-morning tinkering, he parked his Volvo inside the garage next to a black ’66 Imperial Crown. Kato, already in his livery, opened his car door for him.

“Good morning, Kato,” said Simon as he got out. “Will she pass?”

“Good morning, Mr. Templar,” Kato replied with a slight bow. “The car looks similar enough, but it does not have the devices we have in the Black Beauty.”

Simon tilted his head in acknowledgment. “It’s a bit Heath Robinson, I’ll grant you, but the looks are all we’re after for the moment.” He strolled around the front of the car and saw that the grill and front bumper had been changed and the green headlights installed. “Oh, good, ’Orace even managed to get the right number plates—V194 is correct, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. But how did you convince him to do this for you?”

Simon smiled. “In England, the words ‘fancy dress’ cover a multitude of sins. Speaking of which, you’d better help me into mine.”

Kato bowed again and ushered Simon over to a table where a bag with the Green Hornet costume in it was resting. Simon was already wearing a black suit and tie and a white shirt, and Kato swiftly helped him arrange the white scarf that went over the lapels of his suitcoat and held the green overcoat while he slid into it and straightened its velvet lapels. Then Simon buttoned the coat, pulled on the green gloves and short-brimmed fedora, and slipped on the mask, which fitted like glasses.

Kato cast a critical eye over the get-up. “It’s better,” he pronounced, “but you still don’t look like him from this distance.”

“Let’s try it further away,” Simon suggested and sent Kato to one end of the warehouse while Simon went to the other.

Once they were in position, Kato tilted his head this way and that, then scrambled up to the catwalk, presumably to get closer to the view from a flat.

“Well?” Simon called.

Kato waggled his head again, then flashed a thumbs-up and came down again.

Simon met him back at the ersatz Black Beauty. “I’ve got my makeup kit in my car, if you really think we need it.”

Kato made a face as he considered. “I don’t think so, as long as we’re going to be across the street and not speak to anyone.”

“The Marquise’s flat is on the fifth floor,” Simon noted and pulled a plan of the building out of the inner pocket of his suitcoat. Spreading the paper out on the bonnet, he pointed to the flat in question. “It overlooks the road and the park beyond, so we should circle the building slowly several times with the car—that will give me a chance to check my exit routes as well as yours. Then we should park a few streets over and walk across the park to a good point for surveillance.”

Kato nodded his understanding. “How long will we stay?”

“Depends on how long it takes her to notice us, but I’d say most of the morning, possibly until lunchtime.”

“That could be risky, if someone calls the police.”

“Well, in that case, we would cut the visit short, although if it’s just PC Plod on his normal rounds who’s caught sight of us, ‘fancy dress’ may be the magic words once again. We’re fairly tolerant of eccentrics in this country.”

That got a smile out of Kato, so Simon folded up the building plan again, and they left.

* * *

“You’re sure you and Simon got everything straight?” Britt asked Kato that evening as the two of them went into the bedroom of Britt’s suite.

“Everything,” Kato confirmed. “There are three guards, two in the living room and one in the study, where the safe is. The study has two doors, one to the living room and one to the hall that’s directly opposite the door to the kitchen. The kitchen has a service hatch that leads to the back stairs and the service elevator—Mr. Templar says that’s the easiest way in.”

“We can’t be sure our entrance will draw the third guard out of the study, though.” Britt opened his suitcase and triggered the hidden switch that opened a secret compartment. Surveying the gadgets he’d brought, he hummed thoughtfully. “The easiest thing is to give Simon the gas gun for this evening. I’m sure he’s used to using sleeper holds to take guards out silently, but Hornet Gas is safer and lasts longer.”

“You don’t think we need it?”

“It doesn’t matter how much noise _we_ make or how long we fight. In fact, a longer fight gives Simon that much more cover.”

“How long will he need?”

“I don’t know….”

A knock at the door heralded Simon’s arrival.

“But I’ll ask him,” Britt concluded and shut the secret compartment.

Kato nodded and went to let Simon in while Britt closed his suitcase.

Simon, who’d changed into a black turtleneck and white sports coat, was exchanging pleasantries with Kato when Britt came out of the bedroom with the suitcase. “Evening, Britt,” Simon said. “How’s life on Fleet Street?”

“Busy,” Britt answered and shook Simon’s hand. “How was your afternoon?”

“Oh, satisfactory.” Simon’s smile proclaimed that an understatement.

“How much time will you need to get in and out?”

“That is a good question. The safe’s no problem—I can open it in a matter of seconds—but getting through the kitchen, taking out the guard if he’s still there, getting things into the valise… five minutes? Ten to be safe.”

“Sounds fair.” Britt handed the suitcase to Kato. “Better go out the back way, Kato. We’ll meet you at the garage after supper.”

“Yes, sir,” Kato replied and left.

Simon sat down on the couch. “So, what dirt did Ken have for you?”

“Plenty,” Britt said and sat down in a chair. “The Marquise has been in town for a week, but she’s not getting many high-status social invitations. Apparently her version of the ‘lost heir’ doesn’t play as well among people who own a copy of _Who’s Who_ and know that there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”

Simon chuckled.

“Her real name is Emma Foster; she’s from Connecticut. Ken didn’t know anything about warrants out for her in the States, but then again, that’s not his department.”

“No, we’d best leave that to Claude Eustace Teal, the Bloodhound of the Yard.”

Britt couldn’t help laughing at the way Simon said that. It was obvious that the two men respected each other, but it was the sort of grudging respect that meant Simon could gleefully annoy Teal and Teal would just as gleefully arrest Simon for committing a real crime if ever there were sufficient proof. On balance, Britt preferred his own collaborative relationship with District Attorney Frank Scanlon, where both men supported each other and each was willing to listen to the other’s suggestions or advice, even when he chose differently… but watching Simon and Teal needle each other sure was entertaining.

“I believe he’s been onto Commissioner Gordon this afternoon,” Simon continued. “He said something about extradition papers, but the process isn’t as quick as all that, as I’m sure you know. And there is the problem that the Marquise hasn’t committed any crimes in the UK to anyone’s knowledge. Still, that does give us a certain window in which we have a free hand.”

Britt nodded. “So we definitely need to take her tonight. Ken said she didn’t have invitations to any events happening before the weekend but that she has been invited down to Torquay for the weekend by somebody or other’s kindly old aunt.”

“Oh, she _must_ be desperate if she’s cultivating kindly old aunts in Torquay.”

Britt laughed again, and they went down to the restaurant for a decent, though not stellar, supper, after which they left the hotel together while talking about shows that were running on the West End. They didn’t return to the subject of the Marquise until they were safely in the car, but during the drive to the garage, they rehearsed the attack plan and discussed timings and contingency plans until they were both confident that they could pull it off without anyone suspecting that the Saint was working with the Green Hornet. On their arrival at the garage, Simon changed from his white coat to a black sweater while Britt started getting into costume, and Kato handed Simon the gas gun and a small two-way radio hidden in a pocket watch.

“How does the gas work?” Simon asked, tucking the gun into his waistband and pulling his sweater over the grip.

“Point the muzzle at his face and squeeze the trigger, like a handgun,” Britt answered, pulling on his gloves. “A three-second burst should be enough to keep him out for twenty minutes. The gas is heavier than air and dissipates pretty quickly, and it’s tinted green to make it easier to see; just be careful not to inhale any yourself.”

Simon nodded. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll open the study window in any case, but especially if I do have to use the gas, it should help disperse the gas that much quicker.”

“I won’t radio you until we leave, but timing our entrances should be no problem. You’ll be able to hear the Hornet Sting from the back stairs.”

Simon nodded again. “I’ll go on now and get in position. Meet you back here after, unless there’s a problem.”

“Sounds good.”

Simon left while Britt finished arming himself. Then Britt and Kato paused for another look at the car they were borrowing.

“It’s not the same,” Kato said sadly.

Britt squeezed his shoulder. “Well, with any luck, we won’t need any of the features from the real Black Beauty tonight. I don’t think the residents of Soho would be happy about us using the rockets anyway.”

Kato actually laughed, and they left.

They drove past the apartment building just in time to see a shadow that Britt was 99% sure was Simon disappearing through the back door, so Kato took his time finding a place to park, and the two of them strolled down the street toward the building at a leisurely pace. Britt checked his watch once in the lobby to make sure Simon had had enough time to get up to the fifth floor—sixth, by American reckoning—before opting for the elevator over the stairs. Once they themselves had arrived on the Marquise’s floor and found her door, Britt checked his watch again while Kato made sure the coast was clear.

And then it was showtime. Kato got into position, and Britt extended the Hornet Sting, aimed it at the door lock, and blew the door open. Inside, the Marquise screamed once and then twice as Britt and Kato appeared through the smoke from the Sting.

“Everybody relax,” said Britt. “I’m just here to talk.”

The two goons already in the living room stared dumbfounded at the intruders. But the third guard burst through the door from the study, gun in hand, and asked the Marquise, who was on the couch, “ _Qu’est que c’est ça?_ ”

“ _Le Frelon Vert!_ ” she wailed. “ _Allez, allez, vite!_ Get them!”

Britt promptly aimed the Sting at the third goon’s gun, forcing it out of his hand before the first two goons recovered enough to try a fistfight. The one that attacked Britt turned out to have a glass jaw, and the other quickly went down under Kato’s whirlwind kicks and hand strikes. By that time, the third goon was reaching for his gun again, but Kato flung a dart through the trigger guard, which put an effective end to that.

The Marquise was in tears and shaking when Britt shut the Sting with a snap and advanced toward a chair, Kato subtly moving in behind him to a point where he could see into the study. “Please… please, M. Frelon,” she pleaded, her accent so bad it was comical. “Do not hurt me.”

Britt huffed and let one corner of his mouth curl upward as he sat down. “Your Grace, I _said_ I only wanted to talk.”

Instead of taking offense, she shrank further back into the couch cushions. “T-t-to talk? About what?”

Britt took a deep breath to help him stay in character, not sure whether to be mad about her continued attempt to play him or amazed that she was so clueless. “First of all, no noblewoman would calmly allow a man, any man, who was not a member of her family to sit down in her presence without formally being invited to do so. Second, no noblewoman would allow herself to be addressed by a _higher_ title than the one she rightfully claims. In England, only a duke or duchess is called ‘Your Grace.’ Third, your French accent is terrible, and fourth, there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”

That finally got her Irish up. “How dare you—”

“The jig is up, Emma,” Britt interrupted firmly. “ _I know_.”

Astonished, she tried to speak several times and failed. “What… how….”

“I make it my business to know things, like the racket you ran in Gotham and Metropolis. I know why you’re in London. And I want in.”

“Eh… eh… _pardon, monsieur—_ ”

“Don’t give me that. Your English is as good as mine, and so are your ears.”

“You say you want in,” she tried again, still keeping up the phony accent, although her approximation of a Gallic shrug was better than the rest of the act. “ _Alors_ , I do not know—”

“Half.” Britt was really getting irritated now.

“HALF?!” she squawked, letting the accent slip.

“Of all proceeds, past and future, or the tabloids get the whole story.”

“Of all the arrogant….” She spluttered a moment before recovering enough to step back into character. “This, _this_ is why I do not go to Century City!”

“That’s too bad. If you’d cut me in from the start, I would have taken only 5% of the gross.”

She fumed. She pleaded. She raged. She cajoled. She screamed. She sobbed. Britt just sat back and watched impassively, trying not to look at the clock until Kato nudged the chair slightly with his knee to signal that Simon was on his way out. Then Britt mentally counted sixty seconds before yawning pointedly.

The Marquise broke off her current outburst. “I bore you, monsieur?” she sneered.

“Terribly,” said Britt, which was true. “If I’d wanted melodrama, I could have stayed home and watched the remake of _Winchester 73_.”

She huffed loudly.

“Half your take. Now. I’ll contact you for the rest later.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed, “Come on, I know how much you stole in Gotham and Metropolis. There’s more than enough for you to still live on as comfortably as you please after you pay me.”

“I do not have it all here, monsieur.”

“Then I’ll settle for half of what you do have.”

A renewed attempt at sulking was cut short when the two unconscious goons started to come around and Kato swiftly knocked them out again. The third goon tried to rush Kato and joined them in dreamland. Clearly realizing that she was running out of options, the Marquise huffed again and flounced off to the study. Britt and Kato waited to follow until she let out a very loud, very American curse.

“What is it?” Britt asked as he reached the doorway.

“The safe!” she answered, pointing to the picture Simon had moved out of the way and the safe door, which he’d left partway open.

“What are you trying to pull?” Britt demanded.

She rounded on him. “ME?! I haven’t touched that safe all evening! This is _your_ fault, you… you… giant _bug!_ ”

“Don’t try to pin this on me, Emma. You know where I’ve been every second I’ve been in this apartment, and Kato’s never left your sight, either.”

“Then how do you explain the safe being empty?!”

“Is it?”

She paused with her mouth open, blinked, and went around the desk to actually open the safe. It wasn’t quite empty. “What… what’s this?” she asked dazedly and picked up what looked like a business card.

“What is it?” Britt prompted.

Confused, she held it up to show him a haloed stick figure.

* * *

At that moment, Simon was braking to a stop beside a police car that was parked facing the opposite direction. “Ah, Claude, just the man I was looking for,” he said to the man in the back seat of the police car and passed him the valise. “Courtesy of the Green Hornet. Now you won’t have to execute that search warrant.”

“What’s all this?” asked Chief Inspector Teal, pulling the valise into his lap.

“The contents of the Marquise’s safe.”

Chief Inspector Teal looked at him sharply.

“It’s all there,” Simon assured him truthfully. This was one time he was going to content himself with the reward money. “The fake jewels, the stolen jewels from Gotham that can’t be fenced this side of Amsterdam, $100,000 in cash, and a notebook with the details of the gang’s Swiss bank accounts—plural.” He pulled out the radio watch to check the time. “And you’ve still time to call Commissioner Gordon before close of business in Gotham.”

Chief Inspector Teal looked sour. “One of these days, Simon, I swear….”

“Sorry, must dash. I left Britt at a cinema, promised I’d join him for drinks after.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Britt was striding across the Marquise’s study to snatch the card out of her hand and look at it. “Templar,” he snarled and slapped the card down on the desk.

“Huh?” asked the Marquise.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of _Simon Templar_ , the Saint? He’s an even bigger hood than I am!”

Kato coughed.

The Marquise sank down in the desk chair. “He’s got the jewels… I can’t run the con without the jewels.” She looked up at Britt. “What am I gonna do?”

“I suggest you think of something, fast,” said Britt and turned to go. “Maybe you can sell some furs or something. But I didn’t come all this way just to go home empty-handed.”

“Templar can’t sell the jewels; they’re fake. Maybe you can convince him to give them back.”

“That’s your problem.”

She laughed as her left hand landed on his shoulder. “I wasn’t asking.”

“HAI!” Kato yelled and launched himself at her.

Britt dodged—but not quickly enough. Something thin and sharp plunged into the meat of his thigh as Kato took the Marquise to the floor and knocked her out, and then both men stared in horror at the hypodermic needle that was still sticking out of Britt’s leg. Whatever was in it, some of it had gotten into his system—he could feel the cold liquid under his skin.

Swallowing hard, Britt scrabbled in his pocket for the radio watch while Kato knelt to remove the needle. “Simon!” Britt called. “She drugged me! Get help!”

“On my way,” Simon radioed back.

Britt’s head was already starting to swim as Kato put the needle back in the case the Marquise had left in the desk drawer Britt hadn’t heard her open. Kato then stuffed the case in his pocket and pulled Britt’s arm across his shoulders, and together they raced to the elevator. By the time they reached the ground floor, Britt was leaning heavily against his old pal, and running out the front door was much harder. But a white Volvo was waiting, gleaming like a beacon in the nighttime gloom, and a flashing light suggested maybe the police were coming.

“You’ve a radio, Kato?” Simon asked as they stumbled up to the white car.

“Yes,” Kato replied. “I got the needle. She didn’t give him a full dose.”

“Give it to Chief Inspector Teal. He’s right behind me.”

Britt didn’t catch much else as Kato and Simon bundled him into the car. His vision was flickering. He was just aware enough to see Simon jump back into the driver’s seat and drive away before darkness took him.

* * *

* Van Williams and Sir Roger Moore were both under contract to Warner Brothers at a time when, according to Sir Roger, all of Warner’s stars looked alike, “except for James Garner and Clint Walker.” While that’s not literally true, as you’ll see if you put pictures of the two side by side… they’d be close enough with the costume on to be hard to distinguish from a distance.


	2. The Saint Plays Rimsky-Korsakoff

Britt came to with a groan on a hard bed with a thin, scratchy pillow under his head. Wherever he was, the air reeked of stale cigarette smoke. His head was splitting, and he could see just enough dim light through his eyelids that he didn’t dare open his eyes yet. 

“Take it easy,” said a low British— _Simon’s_ voice. “Keep your voice down. Chief Inspector Teal’s in the next room with Kato.”

“Where are we?” Britt gritted out and put a hand to his head as he sat up. It felt like he was still in costume, minus the hat.

“Bit of a rathole, I’m afraid. It’s a cheap flat not far from the garage. The landlady owes me some favors.”

Britt cracked his eyes open just far enough to see Simon’s worried face—apparently he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Then Britt peered around at the crumbling plaster on the walls and sparse, ramshackle furnishings. “Well, better this than the Marquise’s bedroom.”

Simon chuckled.

“What time is it?”

“Half past three in the morning—you’ve not missed any appearances yet, nor said anything in your sleep to anyone who shouldn’t overhear. We’ve had to do some fancy footwork, Kato and I, to get Britt Reid back to your hotel and provided with an alibi, but so far Claude Eustace still seems to believe the cover story. I’d just told him I’d dropped Britt at a cinema when you called.”

“Yeah? What’d Britt see?”

“ _Africa: Texas Style_.”

“Oh, I _have_ seen that—walked out of it. _Hatari!_ was much better.”

“So you can understand why Britt had had a few too many by the time I caught up with him at the pub.”

Britt shook his head with a rueful smile. “Guess you’ve covered things with the pub?”

Simon nodded. “Of course. And Kato’s brought a change of clothes in case we can’t get away soon enough before you’re due to appear at the hotel.”

“I owe him a raise.” Britt took a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay, where’s my hat?”

Simon stood, helped Britt to his feet and steadied him as he got his land legs, then retrieved the Hornet’s hat from the nightstand and guided Britt to the bedroom door. Britt still felt sick and shaky, but he did remember that the Hornet had never met Teal before. Simon, bless him, waited for Britt’s nod before opening the door. Even before the door was all the way open, Kato rushed over to take Britt from Simon.

“Good work, Kato,” Britt said as Kato steered him to a tattered armchair.

“How are you feeling now?” Kato asked, sounding almost as worried as he had the night Britt had been shot.

“I’ll live.”

“And very lucky you are, too,” said Teal. “That was quite an exotic cocktail Miss Foster got you with—ketamine, scopolamine, and several other drugs the lab hasn’t quite identified yet. At least one appears to have been a hypnotic.”

“Ketamine… that’s not even FDA-approved yet.” Britt rubbed at his forehead, taking care not to dislodge his mask. “A paralytic, a hypnotic, a truth serum….”

“That syringe was pre-filled,” Kato observed. “She must use this mixture a lot.”

“So I suppose we know how she worked her wiles in Gotham, at least,” Simon agreed, “and how she gets information about targets from people. Good job Kato got you away from her—there’s no telling what she’d have made you tell her or programmed you to do for her.”

“She was trying to make him convince you to give back the fake jewels.”

“‘I wasn’t asking,’ she said,” Britt reported and shook his head. “Do the police have her yet?”

“They did,” Teal stated unhappily. “One of her friends posted bail for her half an hour ago.”

Britt looked up. “She’s out already?!”

Teal grimaced. “Nothing to be done. Unless you’re willing to press assault charges, the most that will stick is possession of controlled substances.”

“And you know why I can’t press charges.” Britt sighed heavily. “We’ll have to find some other way to put her out of business.”

“Was there anything else, Claude?” Simon asked pointedly.

Teal shot him an annoyed look, but all he said was, “I suppose not. Good night.” And he left.

Britt waited until he heard Teal’s car drive away before asking, “Is there a phone here?”

“No,” Simon replied, “but there’s a public phone box on the corner, and there’s a phone at the garage.”

Britt looked at Kato next. “Is Century City five hours behind us or six?”

“Five hours,” Kato answered, “and it’s only an hour until sunrise.”

“In that case, I’d better call from the corner. I’ve missed the early edition, but Casey might still be in the office.”

“Are you sure about this?” Kato asked while helping Britt to his feet.

Britt sighed. “Look, I’d call from the car, but this isn’t the real Black Beauty.”

“Even I don’t have a radiophone in my car,” said Simon, coming over to get the door and turn off the lights. “They’ve only been available in London for two years. And I don’t know that that system allows for transatlantic trunk calls.”

Between them, Simon and Kato carted Britt down to the phone box and got him propped up well enough to place his call, which he made collect. And by some miracle, Casey _was_ still in the office.

“ _Daily Sentinel_ , Mr. Reid’s office,” she answered.

“Listen, don’t talk,” Britt began. “I need you to take down an article and put it on Page 3 in the next edition.”

“Is this an extra or a stop-press?” she asked over the sound of shuffling paper.

“Neither. And no by-line.”

“Okay.” She sounded skeptical, but he heard the click of her pulling a pencil out of the holder on his desk. “Shoot.”

“Headline: ‘Green Hornet Poisoned.’”

There was a pause before he heard the scratch of the pencil as she took that down. Once he was sure she was writing, he continued dictating a heavily edited version of his misadventure, framed in such a way that it would sound like the Green Hornet was still in Century City and that someone there had tried to kill him. He made sure to work _alleged_ into every other sentence.

“Last paragraph: ‘The streets of our city may be much quieter while the Green Hornet recovers,’ comma, ‘but how long the respite will last remains to be seen,’ period,” he concluded.

“Got it,” she confirmed. “Are you all right?”

“I will be. Meet me at Heathrow on Friday?”

“Whu—sure!”

“Good. Make the arrangements in the morning and call me at the hotel to let me know what time you’ll be arriving. If I’m not there, leave a message and I’ll call back when I’m done with my meetings.”

“All right. Be careful.”

“You, too, and get some rest. Good night.” And he hung up.

“What’s the idea?” Kato asked as he helped Britt out of the phone box.

Britt took a step and was immediately grateful for the help. “Remember when we had the problem with that fake Green Hornet a few months back?”

“Of course. His copy of the Black Beauty was better than this one.”

“Yes, but where would an impostor in London get the specs for our girl?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Neither do I,” Simon admitted, coming along to steady Britt from the other side. “What’s to be gained from establishing yourself as an impostor? Claude Eustace already knows the Green Hornet is here.”

“Yes, but the Marquise doesn’t. For that matter, neither does anyone back home other than our usual friends.”

Simon frowned. “Two birds with one stone?”

“Exactly.” Britt waited until Simon slid into the back seat of the ersatz Black Beauty with him to continue. “Any benefits at home would be secondary, though. The main thing is, the Marquise wants her fake jewelry back.”

“I already gave it to Claude, but I can’t exactly tell her to call at Scotland Yard to collect it.”

“That’s the point. She might or might not figure out that we were working together, even though I tried to make it sound like we were enemies. So what if we can convince her it was someone else—a fake Green Hornet and a fake Saint?”

Simon’s frown deepened. “To what end?”

“Getting a confession from her.”

“Britt—”

“Simon, it’s the one sure way to get the charges to stick. I underestimated her once; I won’t do it again. She’s crafty enough to weasel out of anything but her own words.”

Simon sighed. “Perhaps we’d best discuss this more after we’ve both had a few more hours’ sleep.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“I’m not sure you ought to, and it’s too late to ring Casey again anyway. But I’m also not sure how this plan is to work, _and_ we’re running out of darkness to get you back into the hotel.”

Britt grimaced. “Okay. Breakfast?”

“Lunch.”

“All right.”

Simon nodded, got out, and went to his own car, and Kato followed him to the garage while Britt finally shed his costume. In the garage, Kato bundled the costume into Britt’s suitcase and put it in Simon’s trunk while Simon moved Britt to the Volvo. Kato got in beside Britt, and Simon drove them back to the hotel and helped Kato sneak Britt in the back entrance and up to his room, where Britt slept like the dead until Kato woke him for breakfast.

* * *

“You are insane,” Simon declared at lunch, which they were having in Britt’s room, and clinked his coffee cup against Britt’s. “Cheers.”

“This has gone way beyond defrauding children’s charities now,” Britt insisted as Simon drank. “Those experimental drugs she’s using have to come from _somewhere_ , which means either that she’s being managed by someone else or that she’s got some kind of hold over a scientist somewhere. Either way, we’ve got to find out who her source is.”

“I’m not disputing that. But there are far too many variables to control in a hotel.”

Britt opened his mouth to argue but then realized that Simon was right. “Oh.”

“Head still bothering you?” Simon guessed, visibly concerned.

Britt grimaced. “It’s getting better.” So was the nausea, and he could walk short distances without help, but he’d rescheduled his morning appointments with a variety of excuses that could be understood either as jet lag or as a hangover. He was hoping lunch would help enough that he wouldn’t have to reschedule his afternoon as well.

“That’s another reason not to do it here,” Simon noted. “The Marquise doesn’t strike me as the maternal type, and she’s met Britt Reid only once. There’s no real incentive for her to drop in on an ailing newspaperman, however handsome.”

“So where _do_ we set it up?” Kato asked. “We don’t have anywhere else.”

“But I do: 53 Grosvenor Mews.”

Britt frowned, puzzled. “Your apartment?”

“Mm,” Simon confirmed past another drink of coffee. After he swallowed, he continued, “If she wants her paste jewels back, that’s where she’ll go first, on the assumption that I won’t have got rid of them yet or moved them to another hiding place. You two can wait in the kitchen, and we can even put dear old Claude Eustace Teal in the bedroom.”

Britt nodded thoughtfully. “It should be easy enough to hide a tape recorder in your living room, and I can probably rig it to a remote control so Teal or I can start recording without your having to do anything.”

“But how do we get her to talk?” Kato wondered. “And how do we make sure she doesn’t try to drug you?”

“ _That_ is the snag,” Simon admitted. “I don’t think she injects everybody she wants to drug, or we’d have heard of it sooner—one can’t exactly go ’round jabbing people in the neck with a syringe at a crowded party without attracting attention. And it’s not likely that she drugs drinks for the same reason; even a liquid drug could be introduced into only a few drinks at a given event before arousing suspicion. But her lipstick is a possibility.”

“Ooh,” said Britt and leaned back in his chair. “Laced lipstick—that’s a Poison Ivy trick. You’re thinking of some sort of liniment that absorbs through the skin?”

Simon nodded. “Much safer than something that has to be absorbed orally. Especially if her usual cover is French, no one would think anything of her giving a kiss on the cheek to just about anyone, and if another lady expresses admiration of the shade, it would be perfectly natural for the Marquise to say, ‘Here, see how it looks on you’ and smear a bit on the back of the lady’s hand.”

“But lips are skin,” Kato pointed out. “She could drug herself the same way.”

Britt nodded. “It’s a dangerous strategy, but there are ways she can mitigate the risk. Poison Ivy’s immune to her own toxins, but I don’t think the Marquise has had time to build up a tolerance to the experimental stuff. It’s more likely that she puts on some kind of protective gloss undercoat before applying the lipstick and wipes it all off before she eats if she’s at a dinner party.”

“So step one, avoid being kissed. That could be hard.”

Simon scoffed. “Kato, old bean, my reputation as a Casanova is _vastly_ overstated. I’m perfectly capable of fending off a lady’s advances.”

Britt laughed.

“Step two,” Kato went on, “find a way to get her to drug herself—maybe eat or drink something without taking off her lipstick.”

Simon suddenly straightened with an expression that made Britt picture a lightbulb going off over his head. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?” Britt prompted.

Simon looked at him. “Tequila.”

“ _You_ are insane,” Britt stated approvingly, and they clinked mugs again.

Just then the phone rang, and Kato brought it to Britt to answer.

“Mr. Reid?” the desk clerk began. “You have a call from America—a Mr. Frank Scanlon.”

“Put him through,” Britt said, looking at the clock and marveling that Frank would be calling so early.

“Britt!” Frank cried when the call connected. “Are you all right?!”

Britt sighed. “I’m fine, Frank. I take it Casey got my article into the early edition after all.”

“No, it’ll be in the mid-day. Mike Axford just called looking for comment—I didn’t give him one beyond ‘This is the first I’ve heard of it.’”

Britt groaned.

“I thought the plan was _not_ to confirm the Green Hornet’s whereabouts while you were in London.”

“It _was_. I had to change that last night when the so-called Marquise of Calais drugged me.”

“What?! How?”

“Rookie mistake. I turned my back on her, and she got me with what Scotland Yard said is an exotic mix of experimental substances, including ketamine.”

“Ketamine?! That’s not even on the black market yet!”

“That’s what worries me. Listen, Frank, we’re still investigating from here, but can you try to find out where she might have gotten the stuff? It’s not likely to be anyone in Century City, but the usual suspects might know who to ask—or check with Batman. The Batcomputer’s not infallible, but it’s got a lot more capabilities than I have right now.”

“All right. What do you want me to tell Axford?”

Britt grimaced. “Keep saying ‘No comment.’ Scotland Yard already knows the Green Hornet is here, and I think Commissioner Gordon might, but as far as anyone else is concerned, the Green Hornet is still in Century City.”

“But Britt, what’s the point of letting people think the Green Hornet’s been poisoned by someone here?”

“I have two reasons: one, to throw the Marquise off balance by letting it get back to the London papers that the sightings yesterday were fake; and two, to throw the crooks back home off balance by letting them panic over what the Green Hornet’s going to do when he recovers and starts looking for the person who poisoned him. It’ll be interesting to see what shakes loose.”

Frank sighed. “I just hope we can mop it all up without you. And I _really_ hope Axford doesn’t get himself in over his head again while you’re not here to bail him out.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone’s capable of keeping Mike out of trouble, but… keep an eye on him for me, will you?”

“Of course. And you try not to give me any more heart attacks.”

“Oh, I’m letting someone else take all the risks tonight,” Britt stated with a wink at Simon, who acknowledged him with a smile and a raised coffee cup. “Even Kato should be out of the line of fire.”

Frank paused. “Dare I ask?”

“Ever hear of a man named Simon Templar?”

“The Saint? You’re working with the _Saint?!_ ”

Simon swallowed a drink of coffee and motioned for the handset.

“Hold on,” Britt answered and handed the phone to Simon with a grin.

“Mr. Scanlon!” Simon said into the phone. “Simon Templar. I’ve heard so much about you from Britt…. Yes, we met the night he arrived and found we had a great deal in common, and I’ve taken what you might call a fraternal interest in him.”

Frank’s “WHAT?!” was audible from across the table.

“Well, it’s a jolly good thing I did, given what happened last night. If I hadn’t been there, Kato never would have gotten him to the car before the police closed in.” Simon paused. “Really, Counselor, it’s far too early for that sort of language, even here.”

Kato grinned, and Britt nearly fell over laughing.

“We’re laying it on for tonight,” Simon continued after another pause, “and Britt and Kato will both be quite safe, I assure you. I’m to be the bait this time ’round. But if you do happen to learn anything about the ketamine, would you be good enough to call Chief Inspector Teal at Scotland Yard? He’s in charge of the case…. Whitehall 1212.” He paused again. “Thank you so much. Goodbye.” And he hung up.

“You have _got_ to come visit someday, Simon,” Britt declared. “I would pay good money to see you and Mike go at it.”

“Well, perhaps I shall, if the fishing’s good,” Simon replied with a mischievous smile.

* * *

Simon knew his own limitations when it came to tequila. Accordingly, he forwent his usual cocktails, ate a large dinner—alone, as Britt had had to reschedule a business lunch—and drank no wine with it, and stuck to coffee as he finished preparing the flat for guests, expected and otherwise. Chief Inspector Teal arrived just after dinner with a PC, a WPC, and a late edition of the _Times_ , which Simon quickly searched for an item Ken had promised him and then folded open and left on the coffee table. Britt arrived in a taxi about ten minutes later with the tape recorder and a bag of limes.

“What’s that for?” asked Chief Inspector Teal, nodding at the limes.

“Simon said he had tequila,” Britt replied. “Thought I might fix myself a margarita while I wait.”

“Sounds like a marvelous idea,” Simon stated with a broad smile as he tucked the tape recorder into the drawer of an end table. “Would you like one, Claude?”

Chief Inspector Teal regarded them both skeptically. “We’ll stick with tea, thank you.”

“All right, suit yourself.” Simon shut the drawer and handed the remote to Chief Inspector Teal. “I’ll just go and put the kettle on.”

Britt smiled at Chief Inspector Teal and followed Simon into the kitchen, plunked the limes on the counter, and sank into a chair at the kitchen table with a barely audible groan.

“How are you holding up?” Simon asked softly and started filling the kettle.

“Better’n I was at lunch,” Britt answered at the same volume, his weariness betrayed by a hint of Texan drawl creeping into his usually neutral accent. “Still tryin’ to shake the dregs of the side effects, though.”

“So the margarita bit was putting a brave face on it.”

Britt nodded. “I don’t even like margaritas.”

Simon rummaged in his cupboards for his spare kettle. “Would you like your tea plain or with ginger?”

Britt considered. “Maybe mint?”

“Mint, certainly.” Simon pointed to the windowsill, where he kept his pots of fresh herbs. “Peppermint and spearmint are both growing well—take your choice.”

“Thanks, but I’d better let you pick. Not sure I know the difference, and I don’t think I can get up right now.”

Simon switched the kettles under the tap, put the first on the stove, and turned to face Britt. “Are you _sure_ you’re all right to be here?”

Britt looked him in the eye. “We started this fight together. We’ll finish it together.”

“What about Kato?”

“I gave Kato the night off. I’m not sure he’s slept since we got here—and Teal’s never seen us together out of costume.”

Simon nodded. “All right, fair enough.” He started to get out his teapots but paused and looked at Britt again. “I’m honored that Kato trusts me with your life.”

“You’ve earned it,” said Britt.

They lapsed into companionable silence then as Simon got on with preparing tea. While the kettles heated, he set three cups and a tin of chocolate biscuits on a tray with his usual tea things for his official guests and found a tin of pre-blended black tea with mint for Britt. He also got out his tequila set, although it was too early to cut the limes yet. Then, once the kettles had whistled and the tea was brewing, Simon delivered the tea tray and settled the police in the bedroom, made sure Britt had everything he needed to be comfortable, and settled himself on the sofa with a cigarette, a book, and another cup of coffee.

He’d barely smoked half his cigarette when there was a knock at the door.

 _And we’re off_ , he thought, stubbing out his cigarette and hearing a muffled click as the tape recorder switched on. Then he got up and went to the door and pretended to be surprised when he saw the Marquise on his doorstep. “Oh, good evening, Your Ladyship!” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“M. Templar, I must speak with you,” she replied. “It is urgent.”

“Won’t you come in?”

“ _Merci_.”

“ _De rien_ ,” he said, ushered her into the sitting room, and took her wrap and bag. “ _S’il vous plait_ ,” he added, gesturing toward the sitting area.

She perched primly at one end of the sofa. “M. Templar… last night, when I was visited by _le Frelon Vert_ , you broke into my apartment and robbed my safe.”

“Oh,” he said and sat down in the armchair. “Did I?”

“You know you did.”

“If you say so.”

“Please, monsieur… I do not want to go to the police about this. I do not care about the money you took, but the jewels, they have been in my family for two hundred years. And you took documents as well, a notebook. I must have them back. Please, will you return them to me?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have them.”

“You mean they are not here?”

“I mean, they’re not in my possession, here or elsewhere.”

She frowned, puzzled. “I do not understand. It was you who robbed me.”

“Oh? What proof do you have of that?”

“You left your card.”

He smiled. “Cards, if I may say so, can be forged. It’s happened to me more than once; it’s happened to the Green Hornet a few times.” He paused. “In fact, it may be happening now.”

“ _Pardon?_ ”

He picked up the paper and showed her the item Ken had put in the late edition for him:

> The buzz in Soho is that a certain masked man in a green topcoat has been spotted flitting about the streets of our fair city. Fancy dress or a fancy crime? Britt Reid, in London on business for the _Daily Sentinel_ , had no official comment—but unofficially, a little bee tells us that Reid’s masked adversary is still in the States and unlikely to be traveling, so whoever was seen yesterday may have kicked a hornet’s nest. Will Scotland Yard unravel the web before someone gets stung? 

Her frown deepened as she read. “An impostor?”

“That’s what it sounds like,” said Simon. “Britt spoke to the district attorney in Century City today, and the Green Hornet just made the news again over there. So the question arises: is someone here impersonating the Green Hornet? And by extension, is someone impersonating _me?_ I’d be glad to let my friends at the Yard solve the first problem, but the second I might have to take care of personally.”

“But… but I thought… it-it could not be.”

“Have you ever met the Green Hornet before?”

“No, but he… he had the baton, and the man with him, he fought like… like a… how you say, ninja?”

“Well, anybody might learn Kung Fu. I’m a black belt in karate myself, not that I use it much.”

She put down the paper with a huff that was just short of a sob. “Then if… if it was not _you_ who stole my jewels… how will I get them back?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. But as long as you’re here and we’re both baffled, may I offer you a drink?”

“Ah, _oui_.” She finally sat back, although she didn’t relax much. “Champagne, _s’il vous plait_.”

“Oh, no, champagne’s all wrong for this sort of atmosphere.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as he pretended to think. “We need Scotch or bourbon or—no, wait, I’ve got just the thing for a mystery. Have you ever been to Mexico?”

“Mexico? Ah… no. No, you see, my family supported the Emperor Maximilian, and when he was deposed, Juárez banished them from Mexico forever. I can never go there.” Her accent had subtly shifted from (bad) French to (passable) Spanish while she was talking; Simon didn’t think she’d noticed.

He only smiled and stood. “Wait here.”

Trusting the others to watch his back but still giving the Marquise a wide berth, he went into the kitchen and started cutting the limes with significantly more noise than he would normally. He left the door open just far enough that Britt could watch the Marquise while Simon was working.

“She’s searching,” Britt whispered as Simon finished the first lime.

“Where?” Simon whispered back.

“Just behind pictures.”

“Good. I’ve enough of those that she won’t have started on drawers before I come out.” Simon swiftly quartered a second lime, put the quarters in a bowl and the bowl on the tray with a clatter, rattled the glasses and bottle a bit, and nodded Britt away from the door before going back to the sitting room with the tequila set. “Here we are!” he announced cheerfully, startling the Marquise away from a picture at the far end of the room, where the wall wasn’t nearly deep enough to hide a safe. “The finest _tequila plata_ in all Jalisco.”

“Tequila?” she echoed slowly, as if she’d never heard the word before.

He smiled brightly at her. “Ever tried it?”

“I… no.”

“Well, then I shall be delighted to instruct you in the proper method.” He set the tray on the coffee table and gestured for her to join him.

She drifted back toward the sofa. “There is a… method? But surely—”

“Oh, yes, very old tradition, goes back over three hundred years. Your freebooting ancestors would have known it, I’m sure.” He pretended not to notice the flash of dismay that crossed her face as he poured the shots and sat down. “Are you ready?”

She sat down hesitantly. “What is all this?”

“It’s the way we drink tequila. Just follow my lead. First, we do this.” He licked his left hand in the proper spot, took some salt from the salt cellar, and sprinkled it over the edge of his finger.

With a bewildered half-laugh, she did the same.

“Now, we lick the salt.” He demonstrated, closing his lips over the edge of his finger.

Caught, she made several false starts before awkwardly licking the salt off her hand without touching her lips to her hand or her tongue.

 _All right, then_ , he thought and picked up a glass. “Next the shot. _¡Salud!_ ”

“ _Salud_ ,” she repeated with a smile, picking up the other glass.

They saluted each other and tossed back the shots at the same time, which she managed again without touching her lips. But the strong liquor was clearly more than she was expecting; she swallowed all right, but it triggered a coughing fit.

“Quick, the lime!” he cried and held a lime wedge up to her mouth. “Suck the juice out!”

She took the lime from him, bit down, and took several long pulls on the pulp, draining it of juice—and not noticing where her lips landed. He watched her closely as he sucked on a lime wedge of his own. The chaser seemed to help her some, but after dropping the spent wedge on the tray, she coughed again and started on a second wedge, seeming not to care that she was pressing on the pulp with the outside of her lips, where the lipstick was heaviest. When she’d finished that one, she even licked her lips to clean the juice off them… and then froze.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered.

 _Gotcha_ , he thought, picked up the tray, and moved it to another table out of her line of sight. “We’d better wait a while before we have another,” he said, glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t watching him, and then silently opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of evidence bags that he’d picked up at Scotland Yard after lunch. “Strong stuff, tequila. Even with the chaser, it’s very easy to overindulge.” He swiftly bagged up the salt, spent lime wedges, and glasses as he continued, “I remember once I went to Cozumel for a sport fishing tournament, and one of the men tried to win by default by buying all the other competitors several rounds of tequila banderas in quick succession, knowing the liquor would catch up with them all at once and they’d be in no shape to do anything the next day. He was deeply disappointed when I turned up the next morning fresh as a daisy.” Evidence bags sealed, he put them in a brown paper sack, folded the top over, and stuck three Hornet seals across the edge to hold it closed.

“Simon?”

He paused and turned back to her. She was still sitting where he’d left her, staring into space. That had definitely been her voice that had called to him, but all pretense of her being French nobility was gone; she’d called him in the flat, nasal accent of a native New Englander.

“Yes?” he answered.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

He went back to the armchair and sat down. “The tequila?”

“No,” she said, her eyes glazed and vacant. “My lipstick.”

“What about it? It’s a very becoming shade.”

“I’m… not supposed to touch my lips.”

“Oh? Don’t tell me the lipstick’s poisoned.”

“No,” she said dreamily. “Just drugged. So this is what it feels like….”

“What what feels like?” he prompted, getting up and guiding her to lean back and rest her head on the back of the couch.

“Ketamine. Thought it’d feel… I dunno… like acid or something. Maybe the trippy part comes later. Right now I just feel weird—I… I can’t feel nothin’.”

He sat down beside her. “Is that all that’s in the lipstick?”

“No… truth serum… somethin’ else, can’t remember the name. Mostly just to get people to tell me things. It’s not as strong as the other dope.”

“Other dope?”

“Yeah, it comes in a syringe. Higher dose, and it’s got other stuff in it, too. Makes people do what I tell ’em.” She let her head loll against his shoulder so she could look at him and gave him a devious smile. “I got the Green Hornet with it last night. Not the full dose, ’cause his ninja pal knocked me out ’fore I could do it right, an’ I didn’ have time to tell ’im to do anything, but I still got ’im with it.” She snickered. “Coulda had the _Green Hornet_ as my slave….” Then her smile faded. “’Cept… it was the other guy, huh? Wasn’t the real Green Hornet.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Where do you get the stuff, darling?”

“From prison.”

He frowned. “Prison?”

“Yeah. Mike makes it an’ sends it to me—he steals the stuff from the lab.”

“I think you’d better begin at the beginning. Whose idea was this whole operation?”

“Mine!” she crowed. “You go through the foster system, people think you’re dirt, think you’re _nothin’_. Well, I showed ’em. I can be smart; I can be fancy; I can be _rich_. I can make people like me, make ’em gimme money. Don’t even _need_ the dope—that came later.”

“How?”

She pouted at him a little and tried to lean against him more heavily. “Simon… kiss me.”

“Not now, Emma,” he said and pushed her away gently but firmly. “How did the prison laboratory get involved?”

“’Cause of Mike!”

“And how did Mike get involved?”

She sighed. “It was our first job, Kansas City. We were all orphans together, an’ we’d saved up enough to get some fancy jewels that looked… looked real, y’know? Better’n dime store stuff. An’ we got to Kansas City, where nobody knew us, an’ I did my bit, an’ I scored us a lotta bread. But first it was just gifts, y’know—nice clothes, free food, a few bucks here an’ there that added up fast. Then we decided we’d try the charity raffle, y’know? Only we went through with it, gave the jewels to the winners, an’ skipped town with the dough—an’ I mean, we had a lot. But then we figured it up an’ realized we were gonna have to do it again to keep goin’ more than a few months, only I didn’t have no jewels. So Mike, he said he was gonna go back an’ steal ’em back for me.”

“And he got caught,” Simon surmised.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Had to start allll over. But Mike, he met somebody in the prison—he’s a trusty, see, he gets to help out with the medical experiments. An’ the doc was tellin’ him about how all these drugs work an’ how some of ’em can work together an’ all, so Mike started makin’ me the stuff.”

“And who was the doctor?”

“P-Pamela… Isley? I think? I dun’ ’member. But she don’ make the stuff,” she insisted. “She ain’t in on it. Izz just Mike an’ me an’ Jason an’ Tom an’ Louie.” She nodded a little with the conviction of the absolutely smashed. “Had to dump Jackie in Metropolis ’cause he was gon’ talk to Wonder Woman, but I never liked Jackie anyway. He was Tom’s friend, not mine.” She paused. “Siiimooon… kiss meee….”

Simon cleared his throat again, inched further away, and continued quizzing her for several minutes, fending off more passes of increasing crudity in the process. He’d gotten almost all the details of her operation by the time she slung herself sideways in an attempt to put her head in his lap (he dodged by standing up quickly and sitting down again on the floor) and demanded that he have sex with her, which he flatly refused.

Then she started crying. “Fake Hornet… fake Saint… fake jewels… fake me. Can’t feel nothin’. Everything’s fake… ’cept you, Simon. An’ I can’t even have the _fake_ stuff anymore—izz all gone.”

He sighed. “Go to sleep now, Emma. You’ll feel something in the morning.”

Her eyelids fluttered and closed, and within seconds, she was snoring softly.

Simon got up, shut off the tape recorder, rewound the tape, and removed the reel, then went to knock on the bedroom door with his knuckle. When Chief Inspector Teal opened the door, he said, “She’s all yours, Claude,” and handed off the reel.

At Chief Inspector Teal’s nod, the PC went around the corner to get the car while Chief Inspector Teal gathered up the other evidence. When the car arrived, Simon and the WPC carried the Marquise out to it.

“How long do you think she’ll be out?” Chief Inspector Teal asked when Simon came back inside.

Simon shook his head. “Not much telling. Hours, probably—the Green Hornet was, and he hadn’t any alcohol in his system. She’ll need monitoring.”

Chief Inspector Teal nodded. “We’ll take her to hospital until she’s come ’round enough to arrest formally. And I’d better contact the American embassy.” He paused. “Thank you, Simon. And give my regards to Mr. Reid and the Green Hornet.”

Simon bowed a little in acknowledgment, and Chief Inspector Teal left. Somehow feeling flat, Simon went back to the tequila set and put the stopper back in the bottle.

“You didn’t enjoy that, did you?” Britt asked from the doorway to the kitchen.

“No,” Simon admitted quietly, not really looking at him. “I wouldn’t have used drugs on her if she hadn’t been planning to use them on me.”

“I know. As it stands, there was no other way to make sure the law would hold her.”

“She was stealing from children, to say nothing of what she tried to do to you. She had to be stopped, and all the other options were worse.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

The two men looked at each other in mutual understanding.

Then Britt pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen table. “Join me?”

Simon nodded and followed him into the kitchen. Britt got out a second teacup and poured for both of them while Simon found another tin of biscuits, and they sat down at the same time… and stared at the middle of the table for a moment.

Then Simon took a fortifying drink of tea, sighed, and said, “Go on, ask.”

“You said I didn’t say anything in my sleep to anyone who shouldn’t have heard,” Britt began.

“You didn’t say anything, period. You were unconscious. We didn’t know about the scopolamine until Claude Eustace caught up with us, just before you came to. And even if I had known…” Simon finally looked Britt in the eye. “I refuse to rob my friends.”

Britt smiled and raised his teacup. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Cheers,” Simon returned with a smile and touched his cup to Britt’s, and they drank together.


	3. Epilogue

“We’ve been able to confirm everything,” said Commissioner Gordon over the popping of flashbulbs at Heathrow Friday afternoon while constables loaded Emma Foster and her crew onto a plane to be shipped back to Gotham. Many jurisdictions in the US had warrants out for the gang, but in the end, Commissioner Gordon and Batman had been dispatched to oversee the extradition. “Poison Ivy even admitted to having met Mike Sabato before her transformation, but we’ve proven to our satisfaction that she had no part in Miss Foster’s activities. Chief Inspector, we simply can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done, not least by deputizing the Saint and the Green Hornet.”

“Very kind of you to say so, Commissioner,” said Chief Inspector Teal, looking moderately pleased. He might have looked more pleased if the Saint and the Green Hornet had been left out of the conversation—and if Simon hadn’t been standing right next to him.

Batman looked around curiously. “By the way, where is the Green Hornet?”

“Oh, he caught an earlier flight,” Simon lied. “We thought it best for him to avoid the publicity; after all, the whole criminal world thinks he’s been in Century City all this time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’d hoped to speak to him.”

“Well, he did promise to call when he got home, so I’ll be happy to pass along your message.”

Batman nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Templar.”

Simon smiled and nodded back.

“I’m sorry to miss him, too,” said Commissioner Gordon, holding up a dispatch case. “I’d hoped to give him his share of the reward personally.”

“And how much is the reward?” Simon asked.

“In all, £50,000.” Commissioner Gordon handed the dispatch case to Simon.

Simon accepted it and then nodded toward the nearby seats. “May I?”

Commissioner Gordon shrugged. “By all means.”

Simon took the case over to the seat and set it down, opened it, and examined its contents. He picked up one £10,000 bundle of notes and thumbed through it, nodding to himself. Then he put that bundle in his outside coat pocket, withdrew a card from his inside coat pocket, set it in the dispatch case, and offered the case—still open—back to a bewildered Commissioner Gordon.

Chief Inspector Teal frowned. “What are you up to, Templar?”

“Well, the Green Hornet and I had a long talk,” Simon answered, “and we came to an understanding.”

Batman took the card out of the case and read it aloud. “‘For the Gotham City Orphans Home,’ signed… the Saint and the Green Hornet!”

“I’ve already given the Green Hornet his half of what we agreed to accept,” Simon continued as Batman showed the card to the photographers briefly and put it back in the case. “Those children need this money more than we do.” And Simon closed the case and pressed it back into Commissioner Gordon’s hands.

Commissioner Gordon looked ready to cry. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Templar, and on behalf of the Orphans Home, I thank you.”

Simon smiled. “You’re most welcome.”

“But what about Britt Reid?” Batman asked. “I understood he was also a key part of the investigation.”

“Mr. Reid had a previous engagement,” said Chief Inspector Teal, which was true. “He declined a share of the reward when I spoke to him this morning. He felt that as the _Daily Sentinel_ had gotten the American exclusive coverage of the arrest, that was reward enough.”

“I see,” said Batman thoughtfully.

Just then, Simon spotted the other person he was supposed to meet at Heathrow that afternoon, so he excused himself from the conversation and left Chief Inspector Teal to wrap things up with the Gotham delegation. Past the ring of British newshounds, Simon approached a statuesque brunette standing near the International Arrivals gate—as tall as Britt in her heels, with striking high cheekbones and dark eyes.

“Miss Lenore Case?” he asked as he walked up to her.

“Yes?” she answered and turned to him.

“Simon Templar.”

“Oh!” Miss Case smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Templar.”

“Likewise. Britt is tied up in a meeting with ITV and asked me to escort you to your hotel.”

“Well, thank you.” She took his arm and let him take her suitcase and lead her toward the exit. “How is Mr. Reid?”

“Fully recovered,” he murmured in her ear before continuing at a more normal volume, “Working far too hard, if you ask me. I just hope he remembers you’re supposed to be here on vacation.”

She laughed. “Mr. Reid’s definition of a vacation is a full hour for lunch.”

“Well, we’ll just have to show him differently, won’t we?” He winked at her, and she laughed again.

They had just come within sight of the doors when a taxi pulled up at the curb and Britt jumped out and raced inside. “Miss Case!” he called with a relieved grin when he saw them and jogged over. “Sorry I’m late—ITV’s got this new show with Patrick McGoohan starting this fall, and they wanted me to sit in on a production meeting so I can sell the DSTV board on acquiring the syndication rights.”

“Oh, really?” Miss Case asked, looking intrigued as she let go of Simon and took Britt’s proffered arm instead. “What’s it called?”

“ _The Prisoner_.”

Britt carried on about the show, which even Simon had to admit sounded fascinating, all the way out to Simon’s car and beyond. Neither Simon nor Miss Case could get a word in edgewise until they were out of the parking lot and on the way to the hotel.

Finally, Britt stopped himself with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry, Casey. Guess I’m getting a little carried away. How was your flight?”

“Fine,” she answered, and Simon glanced in the rearview mirror to see her smiling fondly at her boss. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming!”

“Mr. Scanlon and I have sure been worried after that call the other night.”

“That was not fun, believe me. On one hand, it did help break the case, but on the other… I don’t think I’d have made it without Kato and Simon.”

“You’re welcome,” said Simon. “By the way, Batman asked after you and was disappointed not to get a chance to talk with the Green Hornet. He sends regards.”

“Thanks,” said Britt. “Guess I’ll have to call him when I get home.”

“Do you think he knows?” asked Miss Case.

“I’m pretty sure he’s suspected ever since Kato and I helped him shut down Col. Gumm. I think he knows we pulled our punches against Batman and Robin so as not to hurt Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. Not that I _mind_ —I mean, what’s the point of my maintaining a friendly rivalry with Bruce if we can’t be friends, right?”

“True.”

“All the same,” Simon chimed in, “Britt Reid trusting Bruce Wayne may not be the same as the Green Hornet trusting Batman.”

Britt sighed. “Yeah. Bruce is smart enough to have figured out which side the Green Hornet’s really on, which may be why he wanted to talk to me in costume… but the Green Hornet’s only effective if criminals think he’s one of them.”

“I don’t envy you. But I think that’s enough of making this a busman’s holiday. Miss Case is here to enjoy herself—and so are you,” Simon concluded firmly.

“Okay, fine!” Britt replied in mock aggravation, which made Miss Case laugh, and the conversation turned to lighter subjects.

* * *

As dinner’s main course wound down at Simon’s apartment that evening, Casey put down her fork with a contented sigh. “That coq au vin was delicious, Mr. Templar. Thank you.”

“Oh, my pleasure,” Simon returned. “You know, the last time I made that for a girl, it was to convince her that I’d hidden a stolen pearl necklace in the pot and that the pearls had dissolved in the wine.”

Casey frowned in confusion. “Pearls don’t dissolve in wine.”

“You and I know that, but she didn’t. But it served her right for having stolen them in the first place after trying to convince me she’d gone straight.”

“What’d you do with the pearls?” Britt asked as Kato came in to clear the dishes.

“The original owner had been the female dictator of a small Asian nation, who’d purchased them out of her own exorbitant salary while she let her people starve. She’s worse than Marie Antoinette in my book because she knew what she was doing. A young man who was part of a resistance group in that country had tried to steal the pearls before Jeannine had succeeded in switching them with an identical string of truly excellent fakes. _His_ goal had been to sell the pearls to raise funds to ease the poverty in his country. They weren’t ready for revolution yet, he said, but the money could at least feed those who needed the most help. So, once I sent Jeannine on her way in the belief that the pearls were no more, I gave them to Lo Yung.” Simon smiled and drained his wine glass.

A look of sheer gratitude flashed across Kato’s face at Simon’s conclusion. Britt was fairly sure he was the only one who’d noticed.

“Which reminds me,” said Simon and pulled a bundle of bills out of his pocket. He quickly counted about half of them into a pile on the table, stuck the rest back in his pocket, and handed the pile across to Britt.

Britt looked at the money and back at Simon in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Your share,” Simon answered. “Or rather, the Green Hornet’s share.”

Britt stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Of course. I keep only 10% when there’s a worthy cause.”

“Well, how am I supposed to explain going back with an extra £5,000?”

Simon shrugged. “We can put in an appearance at a few casinos after the show tomorrow, and you can tell people you won it. Or if you really don’t want it, give it to charity.”

Britt considered as he looked at the money again. He’d never needed or wanted to collect a reward for what he did as the Green Hornet; his inheritance and his income from the _Sentinel_ were more than enough to support his double life and Kato’s. He knew Kato felt the same, and while he was going to follow through on giving Kato a raise when they got home, Kato wouldn’t accept anything more than that. But by the same token, Britt didn’t know how he could donate the money to charity in London or in Century City without raising questions, even if he did it anonymously. Maybe he should give it back to Simon… or….

He smiled slowly and looked up again. “Or maybe we should see how a Reid’s luck holds against a Maverick’s.”

“You’re on,” Simon agreed with a grin and got up to put the finishing touches on dessert.

Casey laughed and shook her head as Britt pocketed the money for the moment. “Dinner and poker with Simon Templar,” she said. “Mike would _flip_.”

“Correction: _will_ flip,” Britt returned and dismissed Kato with a smile and nod. “One of Simon’s actress friends is going out with us tomorrow night, and Ken Shields promised to forward any picture stories he gets to the _Sentinel_.”

She laughed again.

He reached over and took her hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Casey.”

She smiled at him. “Me, too. I have to say, I was surprised when you asked me.”

“It was Simon’s idea to begin with,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to take him up on it at first, but after what happened… I realized I wanted you here.”

“But you could have called any woman in Century City or Gotham to come visit London with you—Vanessa Vane or Pinky Pinkston or _anyone_.”

“I didn’t want to see London with them. I wanted to be with the one woman I trust with my life.”

Her face brightened, even as her smile turned shy and her cheeks gained a pinkness that wasn’t from her makeup. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Bruce might be attracted to women like Selina Kyle and Pamela Isley who are always trying to kill him. I’d rather have you.”

“Oh, Britt….”

He kissed her tenderly. And then, well aware of the one blue eye and one black eye peeking past the edge of the kitchen door, he kissed her again.

“I think they’re planning our wedding,” she murmured, amused.

“Better them than Mike,” he murmured back.

She laughed, and he kissed her one more time before Simon and Kato came back in with the gateau au chocolat.


End file.
